


My Skin Trembles

by secondalto



Series: Written in Flesh and Blood [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Author Regrets Nothing, Triggers, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondalto/pseuds/secondalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes up and the world has changed. So has he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Skin Trembles

**Author's Note:**

> If you have triggers, you may want to skip the first section.
> 
> With many and undending thanks to Rainne. She helped me when I went against my own previous worldbuilding, helped shape my headcanons and did beta work. Her fingerprints are all over this fic. There is a third part, coming soon, hopefully.

Alongside the history of the appearances of soul marks is the history of those who sought to destroy them. In many parts of the world, those who carry the marks were tortured and killed because others didn’t understand the nature of the mark. (See references to Meg O’Halloran.)

Throughout history, man has used the mark as a means of torture and subjugation. Pick the name of any oppressed peoples and you will find that their soul marks have been a focal point of some of their oppression: African slaves, the indigenous tribes of North America, the Irish, Gypsies, Jews, and gays, any person or persons thought to be different or deviant.

Marks were burned, cut, removed all together, but they always reappeared. Once science was sufficiently advanced enough, man attempted to find ways to chemically suppress the soul mark. None were successful. It wasn’t until the fall of the Soviet Union that it was discovered someone had found a way.

Combined with something not of the Earth, Soviet scientists were able to chemically suppress the appearance of the soul mark. This technology was courtesy of a HYDRA offshoot program known as The Red Room.

*~*~*~*~

He has no name; he is only ‘the asset’. So she insists on calling him Yasha. He doesn’t object; they will be together for a while on this mission and it is better than having to respond to “hey you”. She catches him staring at people as they sit in the café in Minsk, scoping for their target.

“You act as if you have never seen them before.” Her comment is light, but her focus is sharp.

He knows that she means the names. They are written on people’s arms, hands, wrists, elbows. He doesn’t have one, can’t remember if he ever did. If he pushes there is a vague memory, but it hurts to push, so he leaves it as just that: vague.

“What are they?”

She looks at him in disbelief. “You don’t know about soul marks?” When he shakes his head, she launches into a lengthy explanation. “I find it sad, Yasha, that you don’t have a mark.”

“Don’t need one,” he says gruffly. “Love is for children.”

“It is a good thing I am still a child then,” she replies, a twinkle in her eye.

He doesn’t say anything. Natalia may look young - fresh faced, wide-eyed, red hair ruffling in the wind - but he knows better. He has seen the files. Because of what they have done to her, she will be youthful for a very long time, the better to accomplish her missions.

“You don’t have one,” he states finally. Their target isn’t around, they need to leave soon.

“I will when I leave the program, you’ll see. Perhaps it will be your name, your true name.” She smiles at the thought. 

She believes, like all the other operatives of the Red Room, that her mark will come when she is done with her training, free from the chemical suppressant all operatives are given. He knows this to be untrue. She will never receive a mark. Natalia is different from the others.

“Perhaps.” He will indulge her. Once they have found their target and done the job, he will be done with her. He will go back to his masters, his keepers. He looks at Natalia, wondering whose name she might have been given. He doesn’t think it would be his.

*~*~*~*~*

As the mores and cultures of society changed, so did the nature of the soul marks. More people began to report getting more than one name on their body. Some would come at the same time, some would appear years apart without one disappearing. Same sex names were common, no longer seen as deviant (except by those who were truly adamant in their beliefs). As more became know about transgendered people, they reported that their soul mates would have a name that truly reflected who they were inside, not the name they were given at birth.

As humanity moves slowly into the twenty-first century the mark reflects the different kinds of relationships people often form. There have been recent reports of those who have three or more names written on their body, as well as people having platonic soul mates. The anti-soul mark movement continues to grow and thrive, despite these changes. Peggy Carter’s granddaughter, Sharon, now speaks for those who defy the marks, who find love with someone who is not their soul mate.

“I have seen things. I know things,” she says. “My grandmother was not wrong. Happiness doesn’t need to come from a name on the skin. It comes from within.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The soft sounds of a game in progress wake him. Steve stirs, sitting up in the bed suddenly. He’s not dead. He’s… he ignores the radio, looking down at his wrist. _Gone_. The names are gone. They’re dead. His heart wrenches in his chest. He covers his wrist with his other hand, taking a moment to grieve. It hurts to breathe, like he has his asthma back. It hurts to know that they are gone while he remains. Slowly, the sound of the game infiltrates his consciousness. He wrenches his mind free of the grief; he recognizes the play by play. He was at that game. Where is he? Then the door opens and a woman walks in. She sees him and smiles. 

“Morning,” she says looking at her watch. “Or should I say afternoon?”

“Where am I?” he asks. This can’t be home. It can’t be Europe.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.”

It’s a lie. The game playing on the radio happened before he joined Project Rebirth. He frowns at the woman. “Where am I really?”

She doesn’t answer, seems confused by his question. He tells her about the game. Then armed guards are in the room, but he pushes them, sending them through the wall. He runs. They’ve got to be HYDRA. He has to find a way out, find the Army. He runs through glass doors and onto the street. The noise, the stench, the crowded sidewalks. This is Times Square, but it’s not the one he knows. _Where the hell is he?_

“At ease, soldier!” He turns to see a large black man standing there, as cars and more men surround him. “Look, I’m sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly.”

“Break what?” he asks, trying not to flinch at all the noise, the crowds.

“You’ve been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years.”

Steve’s heart stops. No wonder the names aren't there any more. Bucky was dead before Steve crashed the plane; Peggy - who knows how long she's been gone? And he's stuck now, here in this new future... and he's alone. 

The man speaks again. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” he says automatically, looking all around him. “Yeah, I just… I had a date.”

He lets the man come closer, allowing himself to be guided into one of the cars. The man introduces himself as Nick Fury, director of SHIELD. Fury explains what SHIELD is, its mission and function.

“Howard Stark had a hand in starting it,” he says. “So did Miss Carter.”

Steve just nods. He doesn't have anything to say right now. If he’d tried, Steve thinks he’ll choke on the words. Seventy years on and the world is too loud, too bright, too confusing. Too painful. He's taken to a nondescript building, sat down in an office, told more about what SHIELD is and does. Steve makes non-committal noises as Fury talks, half-hearing what the other man is saying. The truth of what has happened to him is really starting to sink in. They’re gone. He’s alone. He will never have another mark on his body; he’s already had two. Steve had two and now he has none, why was he saved if he had no one in his life? He rubs absently at his wrist. He’d seen the elderly doing this when he was younger. They’d glide fingers over the spot where their mark had been, reminding themselves that they’ve lost a soul mate.

“You had a name there,” Fury states. Steve looks up, Fury is watching him as he traces over his wrist with his fingers.

“Two,” he answers softly. “I had two.”

Fury seems surprised. “Carter would never confirm or deny she had yours. Or that you had hers. No one said you had another. Kind of odd for a man of your times, Cap.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve laughs. “I was so confused when I woke up with two names, right here.” He traces the spot on his wrist where they’d been. “Peggy had my name. I had hers.”

“Who was the other?”

“Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes.” Fury raises an eyebrow but says nothing. “I guess this means they’re both gone now.”

“Barnes was reported missing, presumed dead by you. His status was changed to KIA about a year after the war. Carter died last year. I’m sorry, Rogers.”

“Can I see her? I mean, see where she’s buried? I’d like to pay my respects.”

Fury nods. “We can arrange that. Right now we need to find a place for you to stay. The world is going to need you, Rogers. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

*~*~*~*~*

Soul marks come in different languages, as humanity was quick to discover. When the mark first appears, it is in the language of the bearer's soul mate, and resolves into the bearer's native language when they meet. Modern society was quick to capitalize on this, and soul-mark translation services are often lucrative operations

*~*~*~*~*

Darcy Lewis doesn’t get her mark at eighteen. She wakes on her birthday, rushing to a mirror to look when she couldn’t find one on either of her arms. She even enlists the help of her mother to see if it is somewhere she can’t see. 

“Don’t get down, Darcy,” her mother says. “You are so full of love, I can’t imagine you not getting one.”

She nods and tries, but it is hard when most of her friends are getting theirs. A small part of her wants to think it is stupid, that she shouldn’t be so wrapped up in a name on her body. But she’s grown up with the stories of her father and mother, her granny and pop-pop. They are all so in love it is kind of disgusting. It isn’t a fairy tale love, it isn’t always easy, but it is so real and so awesome, it makes Darcy sigh. She wants that in her life.

By the time she is twenty and still doesn’t have a mark, she begins to despair, fearing that she is one of the unfortunate one percent. She learns to fake names really well, writing them on her arms herself, in long lasting ink, in make-up, whatever she has on hand. She uses a random name generator mostly, occasionally indulging in her inner nerd by putting a superhero or celebrity name there.

Then she meets Jane Foster. At first Darcy highly doubts that she’d been the only applicant for the internship, but then she follows Jane into the New Mexico desert at night, and can really believe it. Erik is cool, his mark is in Swedish, an odd looking script along the back of his hand. He doesn’t like to talk about it, unless he is drunk.

“She had the name of another man,” he told her once. One of Jane’s leads hadn’t panned out and they were commiserating. “We married anyway, until she met him.”

Darcy doesn’t ask him about it again. Jane’s is something different all together. No one, not even Jane can figure out the name. Darcy shrugs and goes on compiling numbers, translating Jane’s illegible chicken scratches. Until a man falls from the sky and Jane hits him with her truck.

After they realize he was fine and Jane goes about sciencing, the dude gets up. He rambles on, asking what realm this is. Darcy tasers him.

“What? He was freaking me out!” she says. Then she notices Jane is wincing. “Jane? What’s going on?”

“I think it’s my mark,” she says. The man is lying on the ground, moaning too.

Darcy helps Jane back to the truck. She lifts Jane’s shirt up, looking at the symbol that’s written over her breast. It shimmers and changes. It’s now in English, a funky looking script that reminds Darcy of old Latin books. But it clearly reads ‘Thor Odinson’. 

“Jane,” she breathes. “I think this guy is your soul mate. I can read your mark now.”

Erik calls to them from outside. “I think you should see this!”

Darcy makes sure Jane is all right before helping her back out of the truck and over to the man - Thor. Erik is pointing to one of his very shapely forearms. Jane’s name is written there, clear as a bell. Jane doesn’t say anything, just directing Erik to haul Thor into the truck.

It’s not until later, once Thor is out of the hospital and having coffee with them in the café that they get the whole story. He’s an actual-facts alien prince, if he’s to be believed. And Darcy wants to believe, so says the X-Files replica poster in her trailer. He keeps glancing at the mark on his forearm.

“I do not understand how Jane’s name came to be on my arm,” he says, flexing and making the name dance along the muscles.

“Dude, you don’t have soul marks in… where was it you said you were from?” Darcy asks.

“Asgard,” Thor supplies. “We do not. Though if we did, it would make things easier among the Nine Realms. Love is such a precious thing; to know ones bonded mate is truly a thing of great import.”

“Can be, if your soul mate isn’t a douchebag,” Darcy supplies.

“Is your bonded one of these… douchebags?” Thor asks, gulping down his coffee.

Jane interrupts. “Darcy doesn’t have a mark yet.”

“I am sorry for you, Lady Darcy. I hope that it comes to you soon and that no matter the name, you are happy.”

“Me too,” Darcy sighs. 

Then they go through the whole thing with Thor finding the hammer, not getting the hammer and then fighting off a giant evil robot his brother sent. It’s a whirlwind of action and romance and Darcy kind of feels like she’s in a movie. But this is real life and even though the jack booted thugs took her iPod, she’s sticking with Jane. Who could go back to college after all of that?

It’s during an early morning science bender that it happens. Jane has been up all night in the desert, taking readings and generally going on and on about Einstein-Rosen Bridges. Darcy has tuned her out, taking cat naps cause with Jane like this, who knew when she was going to sleep again? Darcy drives them back to the lab, to help with the crunching of the numbers and the tabulating of data. She’s just sitting at the computer, humming along to herself when the pain hits.

“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT OWWWWWWWW!” She’s clutching her right shoulder as she hops off the chair and bounces around the lab.

“Darcy? Darcy, calm down!” Jane shouts, knocked out of her science stupor and grabbing hold of Darcy, trying to stop her.

“Jane! JANE! It hurts!” she yells, biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed. There are a few SHIELD agents around, looking concerned but not sure what they should do.

“Let me see, Darcy,” Jane says, pulling at the bottom of Darcy’s sweater. They get it off and then tug off the t-shirt she has underneath. The pain has subsided now.

“What is it? What happened?” Darcy gasps, trying to twist her head to look, but Jane is in the way.

“It’s your mark, Darcy.” Jane makes a circle on her shoulder.

“Well? Tell me! What’s his name?”

Jane looks up, scowling a little. “You assume it’s a guy?”

“I love you, Jane, but I don’t _love_ you. TELL ME!”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Isn’t that Captain America’s name?” Darcy tilts her head, face scrunched up.

“You are such a nerd,” Jane says, handing her the t-shirt back.

“Like you aren’t. Anyway, it couldn't be him; he's dead. But it's the same name. How cool is that?"

Jane shakes her head as she returns to her station. “Whatever you do, don’t say that when you meet him. He’s probably heard that his entire life.”

Darcy nods, rubbing the area. They get back to work, but Darcy spends half her time reaching for her new mark, as if trying to believe it’s really there now. She wonders what this guy, this man who is her soul mate is like.

The move to Tromsø is easy, even if Darcy doesn’t quite believe that Jane would be offered a position like this out of nowhere. They’ve been there less than a week when it all happens. They watch the battle on a television in the lunch room. Darcy has managed to persuade Jane to eat actual food for once and whatever thing had been on is interrupted for coverage of the battle. They both hold onto each other when they see Thor. Then the camera pans to a man in a blue uniform with a white star in the middle of his chest.

“Darcy! Look, Captain America!” she smiles, nudging Darcy.

“It can’t be, Jane. It’s gotta be a copycat. But dude’s got some moves,” she says, watching intently as the man moves with the grace of a dancer, flinging about a huge shield like it’s nothing. It reminds Darcy of the shape of her mark.

“But wouldn’t it be awesome if it was him?” Jane says, gasping as Thor is surrounded by other aliens. 

Darcy sighs. They’ve had this conversation more than once before. “Even if it were, and I really doubt that it is, the probability of me having Captain America’s name is like a bazillion to one.”

They watch the rest of the battle in relative silence, cheering when Iron Man is saved and everything seems to be okay again. Jane starts rattling off about how she needs to get to New York, right now, she needs to see Thor. Darcy is thinking about the man in the uniform. Surely if it really was him... nah, that's still impossible. SHIELD recruited someone else to wear the costume, that's all. She traces the circled name as she follows Jane, telling her they should call someone over there first before they pack up and leave.

*~*~*~*~

It isn’t until he gets his own room, in SHIELD headquarters, that he sees it. Steve takes a shower, lets the tears fall as he washes away the old world, trying to adjust to the new even though he’s been here less than a day. When he gets out, he catches sight of something on the back of his right shoulder. It's a name, flowing down his shoulder and the back of his arm in the shape of a wing. Darcy Lewis. He sways on his feet, grabbing the sink for support. He takes in several breaths, trying not to fall down.

“Why?” he asks the empty room. The heartache tears at him again. He has another name that isn’t Bucky, or even Peggy. This... this woman is neither of the people he wants her to be. She never can be. The idea of loving her feels like a betrayal of Bucky and Peggy's memories; the idea of having her name on his skin feels like the universe, God, whoever has betrayed him. His skin crawls and he feels like he needs to shower again. Instead he quickly covers it with a clean shirt so he can’t see it anymore. He wishes he could be rid of her name, but knows it would reappear. He will never love anyone like he loved Bucky, like he could have loved Peggy. Whoever Darcy Lewis is, she’s never going to win him over.

*~*~*~*~

They meet a month after the Chitauri battle. A tiny little spitfire of a woman arrives in the lobby of Stark’s tower, demanding to see Thor. The woman accompanying her is hissing at her in low tones. Steve is intrigued by her, she is all curves and long hair, projecting confidence. Tony is already there, trying to get the spitfire to calm down.

“Thor isn’t here, he went back to wherever he’s from,” Tony explains, waving a hand in the air.

“Asgard; it’s one of the Nine Realms,” she responds.

“Okay, who are you and how do you know Thor?” Tony asks.

“Jane Foster, I’m….”

“She’s his girlfriend,” the second woman supplies. Steve approaches them slowly, but loudly enough to be heard. The second woman looks up and gapes.

Tony grins. “Doctor Foster! I love your work with the bridge portal thing.”

“Einstein-Rosen Bridge,” Jane says. “This is Darcy Lewis, she’s my intern.”

Steve stiffens at the sound of that familiar, hated name. He struggles to keep the smile on his face. This is the woman who would supplant Bucky and Peggy? He regrets his previous interest, even as Tony sees him and gestures him forward. 

“Well I’m sure you both know who I am. Allow me to introduce you to a national treasure, also known as Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America.”

Jane whips her head around to look at Darcy. Darcy just stares as her mouth falls open on a soft gasp. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” she blurts, then covers her mouth and flushes red in embarrassment.

“I was just frozen, Miss Lewis. It’s nice to meet you both. If you’ll excuse me.” He nods politely, moving away from them. His heart is beating too fast and he feels like he could be sick, like he used to before the serum. He makes it to his room, supplied by  
Tony, before he collapses. The room is bare save for two framed photographs on the bedside table. Tony dug them up for him. They hold bigger versions of the pictures he had in his compass. Peggy and Bucky looking out at him, smiling. He buries his head in his hands and lets the grief wash over him anew.

He avoids her when he can. For the first few months of them living there, it’s easy enough to do. Jane is constantly in the labs, using Tony’s tech to help her with the bridge and other things. Darcy is there, doing whatever it is she does - which seems to be supply Jane with endless amounts of coffee and Pop Tarts.

When they bump into each other, he's polite but formal and distant, no matter how friendly she tries to be. He avoids her attempts to talk to him, and spends as little time as possible in the same room with her. She will never be what - who - he needs.  
But as things start to get into a regular routine, she’s there almost constantly. Darcy seems to have bonded with Clint; they hold prank wars and sit in the common room watching television together. She has a full laugh, one that lights up her whole face, not that he’s looking or paying attention. 

Darcy’s always in the kitchen, baking or cooking, humming along to the thing in her ears. It takes all his energy to smile politely when she speaks to him, to remain distant and separate when all he really wants to do is scream at her that it isn't fair. She's not what he wants, will never be what he wants. His real soul mates are gone and she will never replace them no matter how hard she tries. He never talks to anyone about it. They all think he is fine. They don’t know he stays up at night, silent tears falling down his face. That his grief is why he spends so much time in the gym, tearing up bags. He’s trying to work through it, but isn’t succeeding.

If he’d never had a name, never been in love with Bucky for half of his life, Darcy might have had a chance. But Steve hurts too much; the pain is too constant and too great and it fills him up so that there is no room for her inside of him. He will never let her in. The rest of the team give him looks when he is around her, when she tries and fails to engage him, but no one speaks.

The surprise party for his birthday is when it all comes to a head. He walks into the common room and there is a banner there proclaiming “Happy 95th Birthday, Steve!” and everyone is yelling “Surprise!” Darcy is giving him a tremulous smile as she holds a cake that thankfully doesn’t have ninety-five candles on it. She must have baked it herself.

He blows out the candles, trying to act naturally. Darcy cuts the cake and hands him the first piece. “I hope you like it. It’s carrot with buttercream frosting. I didn’t know your favorite,” she says, her eyes shining at him. She waits expectantly for him to say something, anything. 

“Thank you, Miss Lewis, that was very thoughtful of you,” he takes a small bite of it, swallowing it down with great effort. She’s busy cutting everyone else a piece so she doesn’t see him put it down on the counter and push it out of the way.

He moves over to the pile of presents. He doesn’t see her turn back to the counter. He doesn't see her face when she realizes he’s rejected even this offering of friendship. He doesn't see her cover her mouth, but the movement of her rushing out the door catches his eye; he turns his head just in time to see her disappear.

When he turns back, Tony and Clint are glaring at him. “What?” he asks, clutching the copy of The Hobbit Bruce got him.

“What the fuck, Rogers?” Tony says, grabbing the book, tossing it aside and steering him away from the crowd. Clint follows.

“Tony, unless you tell me what is going on, I can’t answer the question,” he says, frustrated.

Clint stands there with his arms crossed. “Why are you so fucking cold to Darcy?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t give me that innocent crap, Cap. I know you. You are the trolliest troll that ever trolled when you want to be,” Tony argues. “But when it comes to Lewis, you are colder than the block of ice they carved you from.”

“I don’t know what your deal is, Rogers, but if it continues for much longer, I’m going to have to hurt you,” Clint promises. ”Don’t you see what you’re doing to her? Do you know she has your name?”

Steve takes that in. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He moves away from them, stepping into the hall away from the rest of the party. Tony and Clint follow, the door shutting gently behind them. He paces up and down for a moment, then turns to them.  
“What do you know about me from before?”

“Just what’s in the history books,” Clint says.

“You had two marks,” Tony answers. “I read your file; Fury gave it to me. Peggy and Barnes.” Clint seems intrigued by this but stands there waiting.

“I did. I had them both, right here on my wrist when I went down. I know what Fury says, what the books say, but when I went down, Bucky was still alive. When I wake up, not only am I seventy years in the future, but the two names I had are gone. Just gone. I was devastated. Then I take off my shirt and I see this.” He pulls aside his shirt, showing them Darcy’s name. “I’ve loved Bucky since I was six. I think, given the time, I could have loved Peggy just as much. But now they're both gone, and I'm supposed to just... get over that? With her? I can't. I just... I just can't.”

The hall is silent. Clint and Tony stand there, taken aback by his release of emotions. Then Clint is gesturing to Tony, asking for the Stark-Pad that he always seems to be carrying around. He presses some buttons and then says, “JARVIS, play the video I asked you for, please.” He hands the pad to Steve.

He takes it, wondering what he’s going to see. The video is of times he’s had interactions with Darcy. They show him Darcy as she tries and tries to make friends with him, to even get to know him just a little bit, and his continual rejection. He watches her smile and smile and smile some more, until he walks away. He watches as her face falls, her shoulders slump, and her body projects defeat. He watches as she’s comforted by Jane, as she runs into her room, away from the cameras and him. As the incidents continue, he watches her swipe at her eyes, rub at a spot on her right shoulder. 

“Darcy is never going to be either of them,” Clint says softly. “But it isn’t her fault. She didn’t ask for her name on you or yours on her. It’s killing her. She’s been trying to get to know you from the moment she got here and you won’t let her. I’m not saying you have to fall in love with her, but at least get to know her. Apologize for the way you’ve been treating her, Rogers. I’m not the only one who’ll have something to say about it if you don’t.”

He takes the pad from Steve, handing it back to Tony before going back into the common room.

“Birdbrain is right,” Tony says, putting a hand on Steve’s arm. “Go fix it, Cap.”

Steve just nods, standing there stunned. He barely notices when Tony leaves him alone in the hall with his thoughts. Had he really been so cold? No one deserved that. 

“JARVIS? Where is Darcy?”

“Miss Lewis is on the roof, Captain.”

Steve says an absent thank you, heading for the stairs. He can get there faster, think about what he’s going to say to her. When he opens the door, he sees her standing there, arms wrapped around herself as the wind whips her hair around her face. He can see that she’s been crying. She turns when she hears the door close behind him. She looks at him for a brief moment and turns away again.

“I don’t need your pity, Rogers. Go the fuck away. I get it now. You don’t want to know me. I’ll stop trying.”

It cuts him, that he’s hurt her that much. “Miss Lewis… Darcy….” He doesn’t know what to say.

“Are you deaf? I said fuck off.”

“I’m sorry,” he says plainly. “I didn’t realize. Clint and Tony… I’m a bastard. I was hurting over the ones I lost and I lashed out at you. You aren’t the one at fault here. I am. I was stupid and wrong and I’m sorry.”

She sniffs, shifting from one foot to the other as she thinks about that. “Who did you lose? What name did you have?”

“I guess it isn’t common knowledge then,” he says, moving closer to her.

“There are rumors, but I want to know. I need to know.” She looks at him, waiting for his answer.

“Some of the rumors are right. I had Peggy. But I also had my best friend, Bucky.”

“The one who fell?” she asks, sadness in her eyes. “God, that’s… I’m sorry. And then you wake up and the names aren’t there anymore.”

“No, but there’s another one.” He says it softly, so that she has turn around, to move even closer to hear him. “It’s yours.”

“Oh. Oh… I….” Darcy gapes at the admission.

“Is mine on your shoulder?” He reaches out, tentatively touching the spot he’d seen her rubbing. “Clint showed me video and you were… touching this spot a lot.”

She nods, dropping her arms from around herself to tug at her sleeve. He leans in to look at the circular inscription. “It reminds me of your shield,” she offers.

He traces the name with a fingertip, noting that she shivers under his touch. “Kind of poetic,” he says. Then he stands up and offers her his hand. “Hi, Darcy, I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you.”

A smile slowly, tentatively begins to form as she takes his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Steve.” 

“Would you like to go for some coffee? I know a place. Ever hear of Starbucks?” he asks, earnest and holding back a smile.

She laughs, that full laugh he’s heard and seen before. Maybe the universe knew what it was doing when it put Darcy Lewis’s name on his shoulder after all.

*~*~*~*~*

Darcy will admit later that the first few weeks after Steve’s birthday are bumpy and awkward. She’s still hurting from all of his previous slights to her, but he’s really trying. And he’s so earnest in the trying. He does take her for coffee, but to a tiny hole-in-the-wall café that has the most amazing tiramisu. He brings their cinnamon spice latte to the labs when she’s too busy looking after Jane, Tony or Bruce. There are days when she wonders how she acquired two more genius scientists to look after. 

She sees the other sides of him. The good friend, one who will go anywhere or do anything for the other members of his team. The do-gooder, who volunteers a lot, visiting sick kids, answering fan mail, generally living up to the image of Captain America, even though it tires him. 

“Any time you need help with that,” she offers one night. He’s sitting in the common room, two huge bags spilling letters onto the floor.

“This isn’t even all of it,” he laughs. “SHIELD weeds out the threats and other un-friendly ones. Then Pepper recruited a couple of people to filter out the uh….” He honestly blushes; it’s too precious.

“Sexy ones?” she supplies, biting her cheek to keep from laughing.

“They were sending me underwear!”

She does laugh then, doubling over and whooping until she can’t seem to catch her breath. Steve is there, ready to catch her if she falls. He grins at her as she waves him off. She loves to see that grin. His face lights up with it, infusing him with a bounce that makes him seem so young.

She also gets to see his snark and sass. He regularly trades barbs with Tony and Natasha. She tries not to gape because none of the history books talk about this Steve Rogers. She’s really trying not to fall for him too fast, but if he keeps this up, she’ll be a goner for sure.

He talks about them sometimes – about Bucky and Peggy. Late at night when she catches him in the kitchen because he can’t sleep and she’s getting fuel for Jane. She’ll see to her scientist, returning to sit with him over a cup of cocoa. He glides his fingers over his wrist, where their names were, as he talks. She listens, gaining an understanding of his earlier actions towards her. He will always apologize, looking at her like he’s asking for absolution.

“It’s all good, Steve. We’re working through it, right?”

“We are,” he agrees. They hear the distant ringing of bells from a small Catholic church that the kitchen overlooks.

Darcy inclines her head. “Do you go? Have you been?”

“Not anymore. I kind of stopped after Bucky got my name. The nuns always told us what we had was wrong. So did the priests. The God I believe in has nothing to say about it. I read the Scripture.”

“The Church today has changed. If you ever… I’d go with you.”

Steve shakes his head. “I dunno, Darcy. I’ll think about it. What about you?”

“Jewish in name only. I still observe the really big holidays, but it’s more out of routine than anything.”

It takes him two months to work up to actually asking her out on a date. He rubs at his neck awkwardly, looking at the floor when he does. 

“Darcy, you want to… I heard there was this place….”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Tell me when, Steve. I’ll be ready.”

“Thursday, seven. It’s… kinda formal.” His smile is so full and he looks so relieved.

“See you then,” she says.

The restaurant is another out of the way place, the people there seem to know Steve. They’re gracious and friendly. They manage to get through the date without any of the awkwardness that came with the asking. She’s digging into a sinful cheesecake, making a sound that has Steve giving her a look, when his phone buzzes.

He swears under his breath, taking it out to look at the text. Steve swearing? Super-hot. 

“Darcy, god, I’m sorry…-” he says, standing up and leaving some money on the table. 

“The perils of a date with an Avenger,” she says. “Go, save the world.”

He smiles at her in appreciation, leaning over and hurriedly kissing her cheek as he rushes out of the restaurant. She touches a hand to the spot, her heart skipping as she watches him go. They are so going to talk about that when he gets back.

*~*~*~*~

Getting to know Darcy is easier than it looks. Once they get past the bumpy first few weeks, Steve discovers the sweet and bubbly person that she is. She’s devoted to Jane, and soon enough both Tony and Bruce. She seems to thrive on keeping them supplied with food, coffee or sleep. She also enjoys hanging out, watching television with Clint, getting drinks with Natasha and Pepper. 

They slip into a happy friendship easily enough. He enjoys listening to her talk about everything from music to movies to politics. She’s passionate and will argue a point with anyone in a playful but determined mode. She still has moments of doubt, when he catches her tracing the name at her shoulder. His name. He knows to bring her a cup of favorite blend or offer a gentle hug. 

She’s there when he can’t sleep. The grief is fading, though it will always be there. Darcy finds him late at night and listens as he tells her about Peggy and Bucky. He thinks it helps her understand the earlier frostiness. They will sit at the table, hands close together but not quite touching. 

She has a wicked sense of humor and he finds himself trying to make her laugh. He affects the innocent face at first, telling her about all the things he finds on the internet like videos of kittens and porn. She just sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Give it up, Rogers. I know you lived in a neighborhood of gays and drag queens. I know whose name you had on your wrist. You can’t tell me you didn’t tap that,” she says one day at breakfast.

“Regularly and with great abandon,” he answers, making Tony cough into his coffee.

When he kisses her as he is leaving their first official date to deal with Doombots, he doesn’t think about it. It’s not until they’re all dragging asses back to the Tower that he realizes what he did. Darcy is waiting in the kitchen for him, cup of cocoa in hand.

“So, wanna tell me what the goodbye peck was all about?”

“I like you,” he says simply. “I want to go out again. There’s a Vermeer exhibit at the MoMA next week.”

“It’s a date, Steve.” She hands him the cup, leaning up to kiss his cheek in a mirror of his earlier action. “I like you, too,” she whispers as she walks off. He watches her go, thinking that Bucky would approve and Peggy would have wanted him to be happy. He’s going to do just that.

By the time they’ve been dating six months, Steve is going out of his mind. Darcy still wants to go slow, to make sure she’s not pressuring him. She knows he’s not a blushing virgin, like the media wants to portray him, but he thinks that maybe she’s trying to protect herself. He wants to do this right.

He sets up something in his room. They always seem to end up at either hers or his at the end of dates, making out on couches or against the backs of doors until Darcy calls an end to it. There’s dinner, courtesy of the place they went to on their first date. There are candles galore, it makes Steve think about how much it used to cost Bucky and him just to have one to light their apartment in the dead of winter. 

He’s moved the pictures from the bedroom to the living room. They sit on a shelf mixed in with others of him with the team, with Darcy. There are framed pages from his sketch-book adorning the walls. Dating her has brought out his inner artist again. He itches to see her naked, to draw her lying tumbled in the sheets after a night of passion. He’s taken some advice from Pepper, gone shopping for a really nice pair of black slacks and a dark blue formal button up.

She knocks on his door right at eight, like he asked her too. She’s wearing a dark green dress that bring out her eyes. It’s off her shoulders, showing the world his name on her skin. He lets her in and she gasps at what she sees. “Steve… wow….this, it’s so-wow.”

He guides her to a chair, pours her a glass of wine. “Darcy, I wanted to show you how much you mean to me. How much you’ve changed my life.

“Steve,” she starts, but he leans over and kisses her, putting into action what words can’t seem to say. He breaks away, looking at her flushed cheeks, glazed eyes and parted lips.

“Let me show you.” She looks so beautiful sitting there that he’s ready to abandon the first half of his plan. He holds out a hand to her. She takes it. He pulls her up and leads her into the bedroom. He kisses her up against the doorway, hands burying in her hair. She wraps her arms around his neck and he lifts her up. As she wraps her legs around his waist, he carries her to the bed. 

“God, Darce, you’re so beautiful,” he says as he lays her out on his sheets. He traces the circle of his name, placing a kiss right in the center of it.

She reaches for him, tugging buttons open, pushing the shirt from his torso. “Let me see it,” she asks, voice husky and soft. She’s only seen glimpses of her name, never the full affect. He turns, catching her sitting up. Her fingers float over his shoulder blade and down the arm. “It’s beautiful, like a piece of art.”

He turns back, pulling her close and kissing her jaw, moving down to her neck. He reaches around her to tug at the zipper of her dress. She laughs and untangles herself from him, moving off the bed to stand in front of him. He pulls the zip down, kissing her back as it appears between the parting teeth. She’s not wearing a bra. Steve moves his hands around her body to cup at her breasts as the dress falls away. 

Darcy gasps and leans back against him. He tugs her into his lap, nibbling at her pulse as he fondles her. He maneuvers her back onto the bed, lifting her out of the dress as he does so. She’s lying there, looking at him, a smile coaxing him to join her. She runs her hands over the plane of his chest, dipping slowly to his waist. He gets the message and shucks the slacks.

“Darcy, are you sure?” he asks nervously. 

She answers by pulling at the band of his boxers to tug them off. “Very sure, Steve.”

He kisses her, hard and dirty as he removes the boxers. His hands roam over her curves, teasing along the edges of her lacy panties. She’s panting under him, writhing to make him touch her. He laughs, low and dangerous, moving his lips lower to the valley between her breasts. His fingers dip under the lace, tracing along her folds. She’s so hot, the scent of her intoxicating. He dips into her, making her gasp.

“God, Steve. I know…,” she moans as he drags the panties from her body. He kisses her legs as he does so. “I know you aren’t… but where did you learn that?”

He moves back down, pressing kisses along her inner thighs. “I spent a year on a tour bus full of show girls.” He smiles, flicking his tongue out to tease her clit. She arches up into his mouth.

“Lucky girls,” she whines when he moves away. 

“Another time. Right now, I want you, Darcy.” He crawls back up, reaching into the nightstand for a condom.

She watches him as he rolls it on, licking her lips. He leans down and kisses her slow as he moves into her. A roll of her hips has him all the way in. He takes a few breaths, wanting to last. She flexes around him, making him bite down on a moan. 

“Forward march, soldier,” she breathes, grinning at him as she hooks a leg around his waist.

“Yes ma’am.” He pulls out slow and snaps his hips, driving back into her. She gasps appreciatively, hands gripping at the sheets. He had wanted to take things slow, but she’s driving him mad. He thrusts in and out, holding onto her hips as he moves, sure to leave bruises.

“God, Steve, yes, please.” 

“Fuck, Darce,” he says, moving her leg to his shoulder, changing the angle. She screams his name as she comes. He fucks her through it, wants to hear her do that again. She moans, pulling him down into a hot open-mouthed kiss. The tension quickly builds again and he knows he’s going to come, but he wants to see her there again first. He nips at where his name is on her skin, licks away the pain as she crests again. Her nails scratch at her own name, pulling him as close to her as he can get. “Darcy,” he says, hips stuttering as he fills the condom.

When it’s over, he pulls out slowly, removing and tying off the condom. She lies there panting, watching him. He collapses next to her, pulling her close. She curls into him, head on his chest. He strokes her arm, fingers tracing the circle of her mark. He feels like he should say something, but instead he kisses her. She smiles up at him and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

*~*~*~*~

When Fury decides to send him to D.C., Steve isn’t happy about it. He’s been awake almost two years now, dating Darcy for seven months. It’s going to be a long assignment and he doesn’t want to be away from her.

“Steve, we can call each other every night, if I can get away from the science trio. There’s e-mails and texts and even Skype.” She’s holding onto to him as they cuddle on her couch. He wants her to move in with him, but is waiting for the right moment to ask.

He sighs. “I know, Darce, it’s just…. This feels too much like busy work, almost like I’m the performing monkey again. I don’t know if I’ll actually be doing anything.”

“I don’t think Fury would be asking for you if he didn’t really need you,” she points out. “Besides, you’ve been going a little stir crazy without bad guys to fight. Go do his dirty work and come back to me. We’ll have _spectacular_ reunion sex.”

He grins, pulling her into his lap. She squeaks, but laughs as he presses kisses to her face. Then he pulls back, watching her as she catches her breath. He puts his hand over her mark, covering it, pressing it gently like he’s making a promise against it. Darcy stares at him, her own fingers drifting to the winged name on his shoulder.

“Darcy,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do now,” she replies softly, returning his kiss as her hands drift to his chest. “I love you, too. In case you were wondering.”

“Good, glad we got that cleared up.” He lays her back onto the couch cushions, whispering the words against her skin as they make love.

*~*~*~*~*

When he gets to D.C., he’s surprised to find that Fury has an apartment already set up for him. He almost asks how the director knew he’d say yes, but doesn’t. Instead he settles in, taking a chance to visit all the monuments and museums. One day, about two weeks in, he goes to the Smithsonian. There’s an exhibit about him. Or more precisely, Captain America. He dresses in the best disguise he can come up with, mingling with the crowds as they wander through the exhibit. He smiles fondly at the pictures of his old self. There are ones with his shirt off, conveniently taking out the marks. Darcy called it ‘photo shopping’. 

He drifts over to the wall focused on Bucky. They’re showing a clip from a newsreel in a loop. It’s him and Bucky, smiling so wide and laughing. It’s a fond memory, and he remembers the absolutely filthy joke Bucky had told just as they were winding down the session. Then he slips into the movie room, watching the screen as Peggy talks about him. She’s older than he remembers her, but she’s still so beautiful. The heartache and the grief of losing them both is tucked into a corner of his heart, overwritten by his love for Darcy.

When he gets back home he calls her.

“Hey handsome, what’ve you been up to?”

“Went to see the me exhibit,” he says, smiling at the sound of her voice. He sits on the couch, closing his eyes and thinking of her.

“And?” she asks, not falling for his tricks.

“It was… different. I… there’s an ache there, seeing their faces plastered all over. They had this clip of me and Buck, smiling and laughing. And it hurt but felt good at the same time. There was a video of Peggy. She was older. It was… disconcerting.”

She sighs on the other end of the line. “I wish I could have been there with you. I miss you.”

“Me too, Darce. How are things in the Tower?”

“Quiet. Tony took Pepper off to some exotic locale on vacation, Clint was sent off on assignment who knows where, Thor took Jane to Asgard again and Bruce went off to meditate in the wilderness somewhere.”

“You didn’t mention Natasha,” he says, relaxing into the couch.

“Who knows where she is. She’s a ninja, I swear,” Darcy says, making a ton of noise. It sounds like she’s cooking. He won’t mention that he saw Nat not so long ago. 

“What’s on the menu?”

“Lasagna. I’d say I’ll save you some, but….”

He laughs. “It’s the thought that counts, Darce. I’ll let you go. Call tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here,” she says, banging pots and pans about. “Love you, Steve.”

“Love you, too.”

*~*~*~*~*~

Chasing the man who shot Fury is something of a challenge. Steve has been waiting for something like this since the Chitauri. When he tosses the shield out, hoping to knock the assassin down, he is stunned to see the man catch it. His eyes go first to the metal arm holding the shield. They travel up to meet the eyes of the assassin. He thinks he knows those eyes. But before he can place them, his shield is coming back to him, knocking him back as the assassin escapes.

Things happen fast. He wishes he could call Darcy, but she knows that when he’s on a mission, he won’t be in touch. Fucking Zola and HYDRA and running for his life. Thank god for Natasha. And Sam. They’re taking Sitwell to the Helicarrier when he’s pulled out of the car and flung into traffic. There is a man, the assassin from the other night, stalking them. 

The fight soon carries down to the streets. Steve rushes the man, who had been aiming to shoot Natasha. The metal fist comes right for him and he automatically lifts the shield up in defense. The resulting clang is deafening and reverberates through his body. He’s kicked off the car as the man fires at him. He aims a kick for the rifle, knocking it away. He deflects blows with the shield but the assassin just takes it. The man holds Steve’s shield right in front of him for a moment. 

Another vague memory hits Steve, but he can’t hold onto it as his shield goes whizzing past his head to embed in a van behind him. The assassin pulls a knife and they grapple for what seems like an eternity. Then Steve retrieves the shield, deflecting yet another blow from the mechanical arm. He grabs for it, squeezing it, listening to it whir. He bashes the other man in the head with his shield, grabbing at his shoulder and flipping him over. The mask falls off in the tumble.

Steve stands there, looking at him. The assassin looks up, stares at him. Steve is looking into the face of a dead man. The face is gaunter, the hair longer and the eyes colder. It’s Bucky, but it’s not him. Steve’s mind is a tumble of emotions. His breath catches in his chest and his heart seems to stop for a beat, like his arrhythmia of old. 

“Bucky?” He doesn’t realize he’s said it aloud until the man cocks his head and gives him a flat, blank look.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve can’t react. All the air has gone from his lungs. He can’t think. He barely registers the cars surrounding him, the STRIKE team telling him to get down. He drops the shield and kneels. All he can think about is Bucky. How is he alive? Why doesn’t he recognize Steve? How is he going to tell Darcy? He wants to desperately look at his wrist, but they’ve cuffed him and are dragging him, Nat and Sam into a van. His heart and mind are filled with things he can’t process. It’s not until the van is driving away from the scene and he’s practically welded into the seat that he speaks.

“It was him,” he says softly, looking down at the floor. “He looked right at me. But he didn’t know me.” 

“How’s that even possible? It was like seventy years ago.” Sam sounds incredulous and Steve doesn’t blame him.

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ’43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him.” Steve’s mind has made the connection, but he can’t understand why Bucky’s name disappeared from his wrist. If Bucky is alive, it should still be there.

“None of it is your fault, Steve.” Nat’s voice is kind.

He half smiles at this. “So Darcy keeps telling me.”

“Wait a minute, you got a girl, Cap? Damn, that’s awesome.”

Steve nods and they fall into silence for a moment. Steve is lost in thought about a lost love rediscovered and a new love waiting at home. “Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” he says to no one in particular. 

Sam makes a comment about Natasha’s shoulder. One of the guards responds by zapping the other. It’s Maria. They make their escape quickly. Maria takes them to a hideout, calls for doctors and shows them that Fury’s death was all a scam. Steve is still reeling as he tries to take this all in. The doctors want Fury and Natasha to rest. So he takes the time to call Darcy. He has to make sure she’s okay.

“This is Darcy, I’m off helping some super geniuses, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Voicemail. He can only hope that she’s safe in the Tower. “Darcy. It’s me. I… I don’t know if you’ve seen the footage by now, but something happened. I’m safe. I’m with Natasha. Darce… sweetheart…. I’m gonna be unreachable for a while. I… I… I’m gonna try to come back home to you. I need you to stay in the Tower. In fact stay in my room. Move in. I wanna live with you, Darce, when I come home. I want to spend every day waking up next to you. I love you, Darcy Lewis. We may have not had the best of beginnings, but know that I love you. Stay safe. Bye.”

He hangs up and sits there, head in his hands. He looks at the right one. Bucky’s name is still not there. If he closes his eyes he can see it. He shudders, his breathing ragged. He remembers Bucky helping through countless asthma attacks. Buck would sit in front of him, hand on Steve’s chest. He’d make Steve match his breathing. The person he saw on the street, it was Bucky. But how could it be his soul mate, his best friend, if he didn’t recognize Steve?  
The tears stop, as does the shuddering. Steve eventually lifts himself from the floor and drags himself outside. He’s standing there on the top of the dam, listening to the bells of the National Cathedral chime, remembering.

*~*~*~*~*

_“I looked for you after. Wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.” Bucky is behind him as they climb the few steps to their apartment. Steve has just said goodbye to his mom._

_“I know, I’m sorry. I kinda wanted to be alone.”_

_“Stevie, you know you don’t have to be. I woulda been there for you.”_

_“S’okay. I’m all right. She’s next to dad now.”_

_Bucky stands behind him as he fumbles for the key in his pocket. He pulls Steve back into his embrace, tracing his fingers over his name on Steve’s wrist. Steve closes his eyes and breathes in Bucky, his own hand resting on the mark that is his name on Bucky’s skin. He sighs, standing back up and digging out the key._

_“Thanks, Buck. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”_

_“Thank God you don’t have to find out. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, Stevie.” He hugs Steve then, pressing kisses into his hair._

*~*~*~*~*

When he comes out of the memory, Sam is walking up to him.

“Whoever he is now,” Sam says, “I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.” 

Steve looks out at the countryside. He shakes his head. “I can’t do that.” He rotates his right wrist and shoulder. The places where Bucky’s name used to be and where Darcy’s is now.

“Well, he might not give you a choice. He didn’t know you,” Sam points out. 

“He will,” Steve states. “Gear up, it’s time.” He’s going to find Bucky, bring him home and get him fixed. Because no matter what the universe says, he loves Bucky.

*~*~*~*~

He does find Bucky again. He’s standing on the other end of the catwalk on the third Helicarrier, looking right at him. Bucky isn’t moving, isn’t talking. 

“People are gonna die, Buck. I can’t let that happen.” Bucky doesn’t respond. He just stands there, glaring at Steve. “Please don’t make me do this,” he pleads, his voice rough and desperate. Bucky is unmoving. Steve looks at the man he loves, his other soul mate and knows what he has to do. He stiffens his spine and throws his shield.

Bucky responds by taking out pistols and shooting. He catches Steve in the side, a flesh wound. Steve bashes at him with the shield, knocking the gun out of Bucky’s hand. Bucky comes at him with a knife again. Steve blocks, kicks and hits. He manages to reach the control panel and get it open. Bucky comes at him, Steve holding him back with the shield. They continue to fight, Steve using the shield to hit Bucky in the head. Bucky comes at him with a roar, head ramming into his stomach, knocking Steve off the catwalk and onto a platform below. The chip he’s supposed to put in falls too. Steve scoops it up, but Bucky is right there, making him drop it again.

They fight some more, trading punches before Bucky is knocked down. Steve kicks him off the platform, following soon after. He runs for the chip, but is hit by his own shield. He doesn’t remember dropping it. He grabs for it as Bucky starts firing from another pistol, blocking the shots. He throws the shield but Bucky deflects it, coming for Steve with the knife again. Without his shield to hold Bucky off, Steve is blocking with his arms. Bucky gets in close, stabbing him in the right shoulder. Steve’s only thought is for the mark on the other side. He head butts Bucky.

He pulls the knife out slowly, wincing as he does. Bucky has the chip. Steve grabs him by the throat, lifting him in the air. Bucky screams. Steve’s heart clenches, but he keeps at it. He can’t let the chip be lost. He tosses Bucky to the floor, leaning on him. He grabs Bucky’s real arm. “Drop it,” he says. Bucky doesn’t so Steve twists and pulls the arm, dislocating Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky screams again. “Drop it.”

Bucky doesn’t. Steve pulls him back, applying pressure to the neck. Bucky passes out, the chip falling from his hand. Steve picks it up and runs for the platform. He flips back up onto it, barely, hearing Hill counting down the time left in his ear. A bullet impacts his thigh. He looks down, sees Bucky standing there, determined. Steve ignores him, going for the causeway. He grabs the lower ledge. A shot to his arm makes him lose his grip, but he bites down on the pain. He thinks of Darcy, of keeping her safe.  
He rolls onto the catwalk, standing up shakily. Another shot. He feels it, the pain radiating in his stomach. He slumps to the ground, looking at the blood on his uniform.

He can’t stop now, he needs to get the chip in the panel. He turns, with effort, Hill persistent in his ear. He pulls himself up, replaces the chip. Then he speaks into the comm.

“Fire now,” he says, breathing hard.

“But, Steve….” Maria’s voice is desperate. 

“Do it! Do it now!” he yells. He hears the canons and guns warming up. Hears the first shots, feels them shaking the carrier under him. _Forgive me, Darcy_ , he thinks. Support beams fall and he hears Bucky shout. He crawls over, looking over the edge. He sees Bucky trapped under a beam. He summons up the last of his strength, rolling over and falling onto the platform. He gets his feet under him, jumping down to the floor below. He has the shield back now. He sees Bucky struggling to lift the beam off of himself.

The look he gives Steve is so troubling. Bucky is lost, the blank stare he wore earlier gone. Steve stands next to Bucky, lifting the beam up enough that Bucky can roll out from under it. They stare at each other for a moment.

“You know me,” Steve says. He wants Bucky to remember, to explain what has happened.

“No, I don’t!” Bucky punches him with the metal arm. Steve takes the blow, continuing to talk.

“Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life.” Another swipe with the metal arm, but Steve ducks in time to avoid it. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. We love each other.”

“SHUT UP!” Bucky hits him, falling over as he does so. 

Steve staggers, but recovers. He removes the cowl, now there is nothing between them but words. “I’m not going to fight you.” He drops the shield through a broken pane of glass, watching as it tumbles to the river below. He can only hope that Darcy will understand. “You’re my friend, my lover, my soul mate.”

Bucky growls, attacking Steve again, driving his head into his middle. The pain is so intense. Steve gasps as Bucky pins him to the ground. “You’re my mission!”

The punches come. One. “You’re.” Two. “My.” Three. “Mission.”

Steve’s vision blurs as Bucky doesn’t stop. He wishes things could be different. He knows he’s going to die here, trying to save a man that can’t be saved. Darcy will never get over it. She’ll be inconsolable for weeks as her mark fades or disappears all together. He will never get to wake up next to her again. Never get to ask her to marry him. Never see her carry his children. Never have Bucky as the best second dad slash uncle. 

Through one eye he sees Bucky hesitate. “Then finish it,” he coughs. “Cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” Bucky’s face is a mess of emotions. The punch doesn’t come. But the blackness does. Steve’s last thoughts are of Darcy and Bucky.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Steve feels the ache in his muscles first. Then in his heart. _Bucky_. The low sounds of music, some kind of blues he thinks, brings him around. He blinks, looking at the ceiling. Not dead. Yet. Darcy may just kill him for all that’s happened. He swallows around a dry mouth, looking for a pitcher of water. He sees Sam, sitting in the chair by the bed. He smiles to himself as he closes his eyes for a moment.

“On your left,” he croaks.

“Bout damn time you woke your sorry ass up,” Sam says. “That girl of yours is a spitfire.”

“Darcy’s here?”

The sound of the door opening and closing makes him turn and look. Darcy is standing there, holding two coffees. She hands one to Sam, puts the other on the table at the end of the bed. Then she’s launching herself at him, hugging him and kissing him.

“I’ll just leave you two alone.” Sam leaves quickly and quietly. 

Steve groans under Darcy. She moves off of him quickly, swatting at his torso. 

“Something happened!” she shouts. He cringes and offers a faint smile. “You were taken by the HYDRA thugs! I saw the footage! I thought you were going to be killed!”

“Darce,” he starts but she glares at him.

“Don’t you ‘Darce’ me, Steven Grant Rogers. I had to get a call from Natasha. She had to tell me about what happened. You got shot!” She sits down in the chair, scooting it closer. He reaches for her and she takes his hand.

“It was Bucky, Darce.”

“I heard all about it from Natasha.” Her voice gentles. “God, Steve… I don’t know what to say.”

Steve reaches out to wipe away the tears that are falling down her face. She swats at him, pulling a tissue from her purse. 

“How did I get here?” he asks.

“The paramedics found you on the banks of the river. There are people who say they saw a guy with a metal arm walking away from the scene. Is that… was it?”

Steve nods. “Bucky. I got through to him. He must have pulled me out. Darcy, I gotta….”

“Find him,” she finishes. “I know. I get it. But you’ve gotta heal up first. I want that spectacular reunion sex I was promised.”

Steve tries not to laugh because it hurts, but he does anyway. He brings her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. Darcy smiles, moving her other hand to trace along the edges of his mark. They can discuss the details later. Right now, Steve just wants to spend the rest of the day with his girl.

*~*~*~*~

There is no mission. The mission has failed. He runs. He finds camouflage, money, food.

_You are my friend, my lover, my soul mate._

He doesn’t want to be caught. They’ll put him in the cold again if he’s caught. He hides.

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

The man haunts his movements. He was supposed to kill the man. But he saved him, rescued him from the river. Seeing the man fall… it had seemed familiar.

_But I knew him._

He waits, watches but no one comes for him. He passes by a building with a large picture of the man outside. He checks to make sure no one can see the arm - people are scared by the arm. He goes in. It’s a museum. He wanders around until he finds the section about the man.

He pauses in front of a glass partition. He’s staring up at a face. His face. It is both his and yet not his. The face is called Bucky. That’s what the man called him. He is not Bucky. He is the asset. The Winter Soldier, a name spoken only in whispers by the men who keep him in the cold. He is not supposed to know that name. 

The snatches of memory come and go so fast he can’t keep hold of them. If he tries there is a buzzing and pounding in his head. He lets them come, let’s them wash over him. He looks at the pictures, he knows this man, all these men. From where? How?

It all becomes too much and he escapes the building. Running and running and running until he’s out of the city. He finds a highway over pass, it is not claimed by anyone. There is a blanket lying on the ground, it’s dirty but it will keep him warm. He huddles under it, trying to sleep, trying to escape the thoughts of the man on the bridge.

He wakes up to a screeching sound. There is something happening to the arm. He feels a tingle along the stump under the metal. As quickly as it woke him, the sound and the sensation are gone. The arm seems undamaged. He shakes his head and lies back down. 

The next morning he makes his way back into the city. He goes to the nearest shelter, finds a warm hot meal and the offer of a shower. He takes both. When he is clean, he notices something in the mirror, on his metal arm. He turns to look. Inscribed inside the star in a black feminine script is the name Darcy Lewis. This name means nothing to him. Surrounding the star, in white and blue is the name Steve Rogers. Something tumbles loose in his head. That is the man. Steve.

_You’re my friend, my lover, my soul mate._

He stares at the reflection. He doesn’t know what to do. He dresses, leaves. He needs to get his head clear, to make the memories stick. He is sure the man will find him, but he will not make it easy. He runs.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Along Those Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719839) by [phoenix_173](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix_173/pseuds/phoenix_173)




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